into any of her mother’s dresses.

She’d go in the closet
eye the garments, breathing hot breath on them
like silk

watch the fabric beneath her fingers,

those darn dresses

those darn beautiful dresses.
 

Zipping up she squeezed
first — her breath then –
her chest
 
nothing would ever zip.
 
 
Once she ate a grape all day only a grape
 
 
nothing zipped.
 
 
Josephine Rosalie would never fit
into any of those dresses
 
those darn dresses
 
those darn beautiful dresses.

Filed under yum cupcakes!

She could
wear the false jewelry matter of fact

she’d prefer tape it to the body.

This is surgery.

Surgery is more important than fitting in things that don’t fit
like fancy old dresses or shoes

so she’d handle Mamaw’s surgeries in a toy room with a trophy case.

The surgeries were mostly brain, heart, sometimes a limb.

Rhinestone sutures, letter opener
rows of fake pearls held in place by a bandage.

Buttons spilling out once in a while
when somebody moved.

It is important not to move.

Do not disturb the stitches!

Try not to laugh.
 

But most importantly
do not move.

Filed under yum cupcakes!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
look i’m a show you a single stitch
anything you can do in the car

well i just make it up
it’s still moving in the same direction

i have two eyes!

why does it know which direction it’s going
it just does, i don’t know
why does it know

i think it knows

sweetheart

here let me show you

you never go in the first, you go in the second.  i’m pulling
but this one I’m pulling up
and back
see
i bring this around back over see it’s beautiful!  i’ve taken the sash from the window.
you go in go in pull it through see
and you weave you weave you weave

it’s the hook one time go in go in
and this is my favorite part
 
 
erotic table design indefinitely i open
 

Filed under Psychic Reader

I love red wine
beautiful chalices
candlelight
white robes incense
hardwood soft music
roses
gentle hands lasagna dinners
red wine
beautiful chalices

blessed and locked special box

everything so beautiful
beautiful

I can’t wait to get up there Jesus Christ!

Filed under yum cupcakes!

 
mamaw aline gave me popcorn balls
 
apples & oranges

when i accidentally kicked her under the table she kicked me back
in the shins

which at seven i resented something fierce
 
 
mamaw ruth gave me hamburgers pizza
 
bags & bags of candy

coddled adored & loved me
 
to death
 

Filed under Psychic Reader

 
a taste of peanut butter
 
 
 

  
suffering

gets frozen on your face
once you experience great physical pain
anguish suffering it’s subconscious

if you’ve been in physical pain for a time
anguish pain and suffering
are frozen on your face not yet
thawed
not yet melted

for some, that expression sticks

when they told you ‘go to god’ you didn’t know the door you knock
on a place where somebody hands you a new scared expression
they photograph it frame it put it on the living room table
kind of picture you imagine your dad has hidden away somewhere
of his time fighting a war he didn’t want

now there’s a picture of the remnants of pain frozen on your own young face
you’re the next cover model for National Geo in your sister’s photography collection
some bird with an expression of pain frozen on her face

not that you can’t experience happiness

not that you can’t smile for the camera

not that you don’t get why people are smiling
you can
you do
you do
you

just also identify

with that pain in others
before it melts as it

melts

you want to be part of the reason of melting it not
keeping it
frozen

there

like something stinks
a half-sneer

to ward off many a fair-weather friend
or suitor             I suppose
who may mistake me
for someone who

smells something pleasant but let me tell you

whatever it is
it’s

 
 

how I was born
 

“What’s wrong with you”
 
Oh you look so unhappy
 

I was born with a look on my face
like something stinks

Now you mention it standing here so close

It does I swear        Whatever it is

It does
 
 

Filed under Psychic Reader

 
I am a tree grown on your shore
 
even if I were cut and burned
my sticks and flints and roots and flecks
inside your mud and rock
churn
 
So dig this big crux
 
not even the sand
not even the sand
can part us
not even the wind
not even the wind
can part us
not even the waves
not even the waves
can part us
 
not even the shore
nor the sea
can part us
 

Filed under Psychic Reader

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